


Roller Derby Queen

by summerofspock



Series: Meet Cutes [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Crush at First Sight, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Meet-Cute, Pining Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Crowley skates for Hell on Wheels and she's pretty good at it too. She'd be better if she weren't so distracted by the new skater on the opposing team.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Meet Cutes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978570
Comments: 89
Kudos: 383
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What I know about roller derby I learned from wikipedia. Please forgive me for inaccuracies, I'm here to have to fun.
> 
> Credit to Fyre for the names of the roller derby teams! This came about in a brainstorming session on Discord so this wouldn't exist without the support and enthusiasm of OLHTS.
> 
> Rated M because of aesthetic horniness
> 
> Title from Jim Croce's song of the same title. It's a banger.

Tadfield Roller Circuit was not a big league and every year it was always the same two teams coming to the finals: the Angels and Hell on Wheels.

Crowley was one of the best pivots Hell on Wheels had and she used to be the reason they won every year until the Angels got a new blocker with hair the color of cornsilk and thighs that could kill a man. Or a very lucky woman. Hopefully, Crowley would one day be that lucky woman.

A.Z. Fell — The stupidest derby name for someone named Aziraphale. Didn’t she know it was supposed to be an innuendo not some remix of your own name? — was a proper distraction. Sometimes she wore her hair in pigtails and the first year they went head to head, she wore a tartan A-line skirt that kissed the tops of her thighs and yes, she wore shorts beneath but it was the promise of the thing that had Crowley fumbling her star passes. 

This year though, this was Crowley’s year. She had given herself a stern talking to. Beez had given her a stern talking to. Hell, Dagon had given her a talking to and Dagon didn’t give two shits about her. Dagon did give a shit about winning though. Crowley also gave a shit about winning.

“Keep your head down, do the fucking jams, and then you can drool on the Angel, alright?” Beez snapped before giving Crowley a final slap on the leg in the locker room and disappearing out into the rink. 

It turned out two years of seeing the Angel had not dimmed Crowley’s reaction to her, sweaty palms and racing pulse a pathetic confirmation of the fact that she was smitten. They rarely ran into each other outside of the finals, only occasionally bumping into each other at practices and Tadfield was small so Crowley sometimes saw her at the shops. Just because Crowley recognized her didn’t mean the feeling was mutual. She was fairly certain it wasn’t. Crowley liked to think her look was striking with long red hair, undercut on one side, snake bites, and black from head to toe. Usually some leather thrown in to spice things up. She was The Serpent in the rink and a little bit outside it too. But apparently that wasn't enough for Aziraphale to pick her out of a crowd.

When Crowley left the locker room, Aziraphale was talking to their pivot, Gabi, a prissy bitch that Crowley more often than not wanted to punch in the teeth, and the angel had cut her hair. It was short, cut just to her chin in wild waves and curls and, as she spoke, she was pulling it back into the tiniest little pony tail. She was wearing blue volleyball shorts and the white uniform shirt of the angels and it was so cute that Crowley was going to scream.

“Go nut in the bathroom like a normal person,” Hastur grumbled, elbowing Crowley as she rolled past in her hideous frog printed shirt. 

Crowley blushed fiercely and put on her helmet. She would do as she planned, keep her head down. Cute new haircuts and little blue shorts or no, she was going to win today.

The first jam went smoothly, exactly as it should. There were no errant thoughts of thighs or cute ankles and Crowley thought she’d cracked it. She just needed focus. 

But there were some things she couldn’t prepare for.

It was when Crowley turned to block the nearest Angel from getting in Beelzebub’s way that she saw Aziraphale. Her brain short-circuited at the sight of her arms up; her shirt had risen, exposing her soft tummy, and Crowley misjudged the distance between them and Aziraphale’s attempt to push against her overbalanced and slammed her into the wall of the rink so hard everything went momentarily black.

Crowley blinked. Her ears were ringing. She had definitely passed out. The question was how long she had been unconscious.

“Goodness gracious, Crowley, are you alright?”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. She’d taken off her helmet and her hair was all poofy. Everything seemed very bright in the rink.

“You know my name,” she said because that seemed more important than anything else.

“Of course I know your name,” Aziraphale chided softly. Her voice was always so much huskier than Crowley expected. She looked so soft and delicate but her voice was like the richest chocolate.

“Are you her girlfriend?” the game EMT asked as he took Crowley’s pulse.

Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered and she shook her head. “Oh, um, no. I just...I’m afraid I’m the one who did the damage.”

“Hmerlgh,” Crowley said, the word girlfriend rolling around in her mind with big flashing lights and smoke bombs and fireworks. Gosh. Aziraphale. Girlfriend. The possibilities.

Then there were some actual lights and the EMT said, “Mild concussion, I think. Nothing too bad. You’re going to have a hell of a headache.”

Concussions were easy. Crowley had had so many concussions. Right then, she was rather focused on the fact that Aziraphale had taken her hand and was looking down at her with concern. “Oh, you poor dear. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

Crowley eased herself into a seated position as the EMT packed up. “S’fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Beez groaned when the EMT reported the news to her. Crowley waved from the sidelines. “Best get on without me.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said with a grimace. “I feel terrible leaving you alone.”

Crowley was going to die because Azirphale was still holding her hand and looking so sweet and also a little bit sweaty which was unfairly sexy. 

“I’ll be fine, angel,” Crowley said, barely having time to regret the endearment as more words left her mouth. “It’s not the first concussion I’ve dealt with alone. I can handle it. Just need to get myself home.”

Aziraphale bit her lip which was a whole new level of attractive and if Crowley wasn’t already on the floor she would have needed to sit down. 

“And you have someone at home?” Aziraphale asked. “To take care of you?”

“Um…”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in that same chiding tone from before. “I will absolutely not hear of you going home alone with a concussion. Do you have someone you can call?”

“Angel, it’s fine.”

“No,” Aziraphale said, standing up and planting her hands on her hips. In her gear, flushed from the game, she looked fierce and Crowley’s stomach gave a valiant flop that had nothing to do with concussion-associated nausea. “I’m taking you home and I’m making sure you rest. This is my fault and someone needs to take care of you.”

“Okay,” Crowley squeaked and she stared after her as Aziraphale marched off to rejoin the game. Had that just happened? Really? 

The Angel was going home with her.

Granted, it was because she was concussed but Crowley was an optimist and perhaps this was the first step in a very bright future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Az POV!

Aziraphale had perhaps overreacted. And now she was faced with the prospect of a fifteen minute drive with Toni Crowley,  _ The Serpent _ , and an unknown amount of time at Crowley’s home because Aziraphale was incapable of keeping her mouth shut.  _ Someone needs to take care of you _ . Really. A terrible come on and an imposition just because Aziraphale couldn’t keep her heart to herself.

“It’s a left here,” Crowley said, leaning her head against the window. Her eyes were closed which helped a bit in terms of Aziraphale keeping her head on straight. It was those eyes that had first struck her so long ago during their first match. Like spilled gold. Aziraphale had no idea why she covered them up with sunglasses constantly. Perhaps it was to keep poor girls like Aziraphale from falling head over heels for her from the start.

“You really don’t need to help me,” Crowley said, clambering out of the car. She always wore these tight black pleather shorts for matches that made her legs look a thousand miles long.

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale replied and she needed to fortify herself. Her heart was going a mile a minute as she took Crowley by the elbow. The other woman glanced down at her and those eyes really did do a doozy on Aziraphale’s ability to think. “I want to make sure you have everything you need.”

Crowley unlocked the door and mumbled something that sounded like, “Of course you do. Bloody angel.”

Crowley lived on the second floor of a small building of flats. She seemed coordinated enough as she led Aziraphale up the stairs but then she dropped her keys as she tried to get them in the lock, and she swore, tacking on a rather creative sound that sounded like a blender malfunctioning. Aziraphale stooped down and picked up the keys.

She gave Crowley a pointed look as she opened the door for her. Crowley ignored her as they went inside. The place was so spartan that Aziraphale was embarrassed to think of her own apartment, scattered with books and blankets and forgotten cocoa cups. This apartment looked like it was cleaned daily and there was not a comfy pillow or blanket in sight.

How was Crowley supposed to recover in a place like this?

She collapsed on the couch and leaned her head on the armest at an angle that looked desperately uncomfortable. 

“Do you have any pillows?” Aziraphale asked, already fretting as Crowley kicked off her combat boots with an awkward wiggle. “And where is your kitchen? You need water.”

Crowley jabbed her finger behind her in the direction of the hallway. “Linen closet at the end of the hall. By the bathroom. Kitchen’s over there.” She flapped her hand towards the doorway on the other side of the living room.

Aziraphale decided pillows were more important. The linen closet only had two spare pillows and one old duvet but it would have to do. She brought them to Crowley on the couch and set her up as comfortably as she could. 

Crowley opened her eyes as Aziraphale forced her to sit up. “You’re really here, huh.”

“Yes, I am,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley’s face was very close to hers as she helped place the pillow behind her head. Sometimes during matches Crowley would wear black lipstick but she had foregone it today for whatever reason and her lips looked very soft and very pink and Aziraphale should  _ not  _ be thinking this way because Crowley was clearly tired and it was wholly inappropriate.

“Water!” she cried, standing up straight. “Hydration! Is. Important.”

Crowley blinked, confused as Aziraphale left the room. She had not invited herself here to make a move on Crowley. She was never going to make a move on Crowley. She had resigned herself to that fact the first time she’d ran into Crowley at the farmer’s market. The woman had been examining the daffodils which Aziraphale herself had been hoping to purchase and Aziraphale recognized her immediately from the rink. She’d looked so gorgeous in her black skinny jeans and gray tank top and Aziraphale had never thought she would be so attracted to someone with face piercings but goodness they did something to Crowley’s mouth that made Aziraphale feel very faint thinking about the way that mouth would feel on her neck and maybe other parts of her body and Aziraphale had felt like the most lecherous fiend. Of course she couldn’t go talk to Crowley. She was entirely the opposite of Aziraphale. If she liked women (and let’s be honest, someone with an undercut who wore combat boots and played roller derby was at  _ least _ bisexual) she probably liked the sort of women who ran in the same circles she did. Not women like Aziraphale who liked to knit blankets and owned not a single piece of leather. So she had scuttled off and not bought any daffodils and not spoken to Crowley.

She sighed and rifled through the kitchen cupboards for a glass. It was hopeless. She was resigned to appreciating Crowley from a distance and not doing something silly like risking rejection.

Perhaps Crowley would want a snack to go with the water. Opening the pantry, she gasped. There was a can of beans alongside a can of soup. She opened the refrigerator and saw a bottle of mustard and a very old bag of carrots.

Marching back into the living room, glass in hand, Aziraphale demanded, “Crowley, why on earth do you have no food in this house?”

Crowley turned her head without opening her eyes. “Haven’t gone shopping in...a few weeks. I forgot.”

Aziraphale clucked her tongue and pressed the cup of water into Crowley’s hand. “You have to take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said dismissively. “I’ll go when my head doesn’t hurt.”

Aziraphale didn’t exactly believe her but now that water had been retrieved and she had a moment to pause and think, the sting of a few of her own injuries was returning. She looked at her forearm and poked the road rash that needed a plaster. “Do you have a first aid kit?” 

Crowley sat up hurriedly. “Are you hurt?”

“You stop that,” Aziraphale said, pushing her back against the pillow. “It’s just a small thing.”

Crowley grasped her wrists where they were touching her shoulders and the contact sent warmth barrelling through her stomach. Her fingers could wrap all the way around Aziraphale’s wrists. 

“Show me.”

Aziraphale tilted her arm, baring the ripped, red skin. Crowley hissed in sympathy before bringing her arm closer and pressing her lips to the base of the injury. 

“Kiss it better,” Crowley said quietly, as if to herself. Then she looked at Aziraphale, expression just as shocked as Aziraphale felt. 

“What?” Aziraphale breathed, heart in her throat.

Crowley dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. My head...not thinking straight.”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale said, not at all believing this was happening as she sank onto the cushion beside Crowley’s hip. “I rather liked it actually.”

Crowley swallowed so hard Aziraphale could see the movement in her throat.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so much of a risk.

“If I could kiss your concussion better, I would,” Aziraphale said, taking Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared at their fingers in obvious disbelief.

“Maybe we could try?” Crowley said and she looked so adorably hopeful that Aziraphale was tempted to kiss her right then, concussion be damned.

Instead, Aziraphale kissed her cheek. “We best wait until you feel better, my dear. And perhaps we can have dinner first.”

“Like a date?”

“Yes, a date.”

“I swear if this is a concussion induced hallucination, I want to be concussed every day.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I think that would be very bad for your head.”

“Nah, I’ve got a thick skull.”

Aziraphale squeezed her hand, feeling very warm. A date! With Toni Crowley!

A better outcome than she could have possibly imagined when she slammed her crush into the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per my previous meet cute, consider this idea free real estate if you like it, feel inspired by it etc. Would I love 40k of derby wives fumbling through falling in love and being generally horny for each other? Yes. Alas, I need to finish my other WIPs and projects so if the mood moves you to make art or write for this AU, this is a blanket permission statement.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!!


End file.
